


Bugs Bunny Tactics

by Etienne_Bessette



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Best Enemies Kinkmeme fill, Crack, Crossdressing, Destroying Childhood Memories, Did I Mention Crack?, First Kiss, Horrible 70's fashion, I have no shame, Kissing, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Really it is the worst dress ever, Silly, The Master's Plan Fails Spectacularly...AGAIN, also high heels, and it actually exists, b_e request fill, craaaaaaaack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-12
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etienne_Bessette/pseuds/Etienne_Bessette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> In which the Master resorts to desperate measures in order to escape from UNIT, and gets a bit more than he anticipated.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bugs Bunny Tactics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MemoryDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryDragon/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Тактика Багз Банни](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3948385) by [Tinumbra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinumbra/pseuds/Tinumbra)



> Response to an anon meme prompt from [](http://best-enemies.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://best-enemies.livejournal.com/)**best_enemies** : _In the old Looney Tunes cartoons, it was a common tactic for the character running away to cross-dress and seduce the character chasing them [...] I want to see one of them about to be caught, a quick change, and let the cross-dressing seduction commence._  
>  This is the _crackiest thing I have ever written you guys_. And I have no shame. I regret NOTHING. Also, a _huge_ thank you to Nar. She saved my Three characterization and made me cut out about a page of unnecessary chase scene at the beginning, among other things. It was somewhat painful, but _so good_. ♥

   
In retrospect, perhaps poisoning Britain’s tea had not been a wise choice after all. The Master doesn’t trust the soldiers not to shoot him this time, and he doesn’t have regenerations to waste.

He needs to hide long enough to shake the Doctor from his immediate trail, formulate a way out of the city, find his stolen TARDIS from wherever the Doctor has stowed it, and _then_ he can work out just how the Doctor managed to ruin his meticulous plans _this_ time.

“He can’t be far…I think he ran this way.”

The Master’s hearts clench in his throat and he snaps his head up, eyes wide. _He’s found me already?_ The Doctor’s voice had come from just around the corner.  
   
The Master doesn’t even think. There’s no time to run and no place to run _to_ , so instead he bolts into the shop directly behind him. It’s a _clothing_ shop, so with any luck he’ll be able to find a temporary disguise, because without one it will be close to impossible to escape undetected from UNIT troops. A light tinkle of bells announces his presence. The Master stops just inside the door and stares in dismay.

Coats, trousers, dresses, blouses, and scarves of all shapes and sizes line the shelves and racks throughout the little store, all decorated with bubbly flower patterns and colourful designs that resemble what the Vortex might look like if one were under the influence of ten Fluorenian Kaleidoscope Mushrooms and at least one Pan Galactic Gargleblaster.

More significantly, however, the Master notes that all of the clothes are designed specifically for _women_.

“Sir?” A young lady emerges from behind one of the clothing racks and stares uncertainly at him. “Can I…help you?”

The Master glances back towards the door. Somewhere on the other side, the Doctor is searching for him, and soldiers will soon be following in his wake. He looks at the girl, about to ask her if there’s a back door exit, when he spots a garish, purple, fruit-adorned, broad-brimmed hat hanging from a stand in the clearance section.

Abruptly, he thinks of a rabbit.

And then he knows exactly what to do.

\---------

  
The Doctor stands on the side of the main street in the market district, hands on his hips and frowning. He scans the crowd closely, searching for any glimpses of telltale black. He _knows_ he saw the Master running this way, and with the Brigadier already having positioned men and women to close the area off, he knows the other Time Lord couldn’t have gotten far, not without someone raising the alarm.

Then again, he has been known to underestimate his old friend. Koschei was always so deviously clever and resourceful, not that he’d admit as much to him _now_.

The Doctor huffs. He can sense the presence of a Time Lord close by. The Master must be hiding. “Really, old chap,” he tuts quietly under his breath as he proceeds down the street with long, brisk strides. “Of all things, you had to target _tea_. It’ll serve you right if UNIT finds you before I do. I thought you had more sense than— _oof!_ ”

Distracted by his thoughts, he’d collided with a young woman and very nearly knocked her off her feet.

“Oh! Oh, I’m terribly sorry!” the Doctor apologizes, and reaches out to help steady her. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you quite all right?”

She doesn’t answer him at first. She just stares at him from behind a pair of dark sunglasses, frozen as though in shock. The Doctor frowns and wonders if she recognizes him from somewhere. She does seem familiar somehow… He takes a moment to look at her more closely.

She’s dressed a bit oddly, though the Doctor has never been able to wrap his sensibilities around fashion in 1970s Britain. A warm, waist-length lime green coat is buttoned up at the front, beneath which she appears to be wearing a canary yellow dress patterned with green and pink floral designs. She’s also wearing a pair of those ludicrous platform shoes. But the Doctor has seen more garish combinations than this. What really catches his attention is her scarf; she has wrapped a long pink silk scarf about her head and neck so that it covers the entire lower half of her face, including the tip of her nose. A yellow hat holds the scarf in place atop her head.

She snaps from her daze. “I-I’m fine, yes. Thank you.”

The Doctor stares at her in horror. “My dear young lady, your voice! Are you ill?” She had practically _rasped_ at him, her voice hushed and rough and unnaturally low.

The girl winces and hugs her coat more tightly about herself. “Y-yes. I’m just heading home. I shouldn’t have tried to come to work today.”

_Ah,_ the Doctor thinks. _That explains the scarf over her mouth, then. Preventing the spread of infection, now there’s a sensible precaution._ He nods with approval, and then scans the market streets once more. UNIT personnel have begun filtering in like blood through swollen veins to sweep the area. The Master still hasn’t been caught yet, then. The Doctor looks back down at the girl, who is shivering slightly and swaying a bit on her feet.

_Oh, dear,_ he thinks guiltily. _In her state, she may be worse off from our collision than I thought. The poor girl._

She’s particularly vulnerable here, too. If the Master is looking for a hostage to ensure his safe departure, this girl would be a prime target. He really can’t walk away, knowing that. The Doctor sighs and gives the girl a gentle, encouraging smile. “Do you live far from here, my dear?”

She looks up at him and hesitates a moment before answering. “Not far. Just a few blocks that way…” She points to the northwest.

The Doctor nods. That wouldn’t take him too far out of his way. _And_ , he realizes, _it will give me a chance to search for the Master in case he’s managed to sneak around the UNIT blockades._ He gives the girl a gentlemanly bow and extends his arm. “Please allow me to escort you home.”

“O-oh, that won’t be necessary,” she stammers, but the Doctor cuts her off smoothly.

“Nonsense. You’re obviously quite ill, and there happens to be a dangerous criminal lurking about the area. Please accept it as my apology for running into you.” The Doctor smiles.

The girl stares at him for a moment, then looks down at his arm. After a moment of thought, she reaches out slowly and links her arm in his.

“There’s a fine girl,” he says cheerfully. “Lead the way.”

She starts off at a slow, somewhat stiff walk, glancing up and down the streets nervously. After a few moments, she asks, “Dangerous criminal?”

_Ah, perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned that,_ the Doctor thinks, too late. _Now she’ll be upset on top of sick._ “Oh, well, I suppose ‘dangerous criminal’ is stretching it a bit,” he says. “He’s more of a nuisance than anything else. An unimaginative plodder who manages to do himself more damage than anyone else, so you shouldn’t worry too much.”

Oddly, rather than relaxing as he expected her to, the girl seems to have tensed even further, her posture and movements stiff as wires and her footsteps heavy on the concrete. Her arm has tightened with surprising strength about his own. “Why are so many soldiers here, then, if he’s such a small threat?” It’s quite possible that he’s imagining it, but her voice seems clipped and terse beneath the hoarse, raspy tone.

“Oh, well,” the Doctor shrugs, partly in an effort to loosen her arm from its death-grip around his own. He’s starting to lose feeling in his fingers. “He’s a rather persistent chap, and he has an inconvenient talent for escaping at the last minute. We’ll catch him, though, don’t you worry.”

She doesn’t respond to that save to nod stiffly. They continue walking in silence, with the Doctor keeping a sharp eye out for the Master every step of the way. Their trip remains uneventful save for a startling moment when the girl—clearly still a bit dizzy from the collision and her illness—accidentally trips him and very nearly sends him falling on his face. She apologizes profusely, and afterwards her grip loosens to reasonable levels.

It quickly becomes apparent that she isn’t going to offer up any more conversation unless prodded. “So,” the Doctor says brightly, “where do you work?”

The girl’s step falters for a moment. “A clothing shop,” she answers. “I just started not long ago.”

“I imagine you’d get along well with a friend of mine. Her name is Jo. She does go on about fashion at times. Frankly, I don’t see the appeal of the popular style these days.”

“Mmm.”

_Not much of a conversationalist, are you?_ the Doctor thinks. Well, fortunately he can talk more than enough to make up for the both of them.

  
\---------

  
The Master fumes. He has long since tuned out the Doctor’s incessant babbling. It had taken all of his self-control not to reach up and throttle the man earlier. Unimaginative? A plodder? A mere _nuisance_? The part of the Master that hasn’t curled into a withered ball of misery inside is burning with fury over the Doctor’s casual dismissal. He tries not to think about how much more of him is in the former category than the latter, and instead begins plotting _imaginative_ , vicious ways to punish the Doctor and teach him to _never_ underestimate his Master _ever_ again.

They pass through the UNIT blockade with ease, which had been the entire reason that the Master had decided to accept the Doctor’s assistance. Now, however, he begins to think that perhaps he can trick the Doctor and incapacitate him. _That would be a suitable start to my revenge,_ he muses. _I could hold him hostage for the return of my TARDIS._

But that would, he realizes, also require revealing his current disguise. The thought isn’t particularly appealing at the moment. If the Doctor isn’t taking him seriously _now_ , the dress will _not_ help matters. And, anyways, the streets are still too full of witnesses for him to pull off such a feat, even if he could manage to get the drop on the Doctor.

Still, the idea is tempting. He’s burning with a desire to reverse the situation, to have the Doctor at his mercy. He imagines what the Doctor’s face would look like if forced to watch his beloved humans die one by one, powerless to save them. He imagines the Doctor on his knees, defeated, and begging him, his _Master_ , for mercy.

Abruptly, he becomes aware that the Doctor has been asking him a question. He blinks and places the fingers of his free hand to his temples, affecting light-headedness. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

The Doctor looks down at him, concerned. “Are we getting close to your home?” he asks again.

“Oh, ah, yes.” The Master thinks quickly, eyes scanning the street. “It’s that one there, actually. I can make it from here, thank you.”

“Oh, let me walk you to the door at least,” the Doctor insists. “It wouldn’t do for you to collapse in the street.”

The Master clenches his teeth in irritation and resists the urge to kick him hard in the shin. “Thank you.”

Once at the door, the Master removes his arm from the Doctor’s and clutches the buttoned collar of his coat. “I appreciate your help, sir,” he says, as politely as he can manage in the circumstances. “I’ll be quite all right from here.”

The Doctor smiles, infuriatingly cheerful, at him. “My dear young lady, it was the least I could do.” He turns a half step, as though to go, but then pauses. “Pardon me, but I never did ask your name. I’m the Doctor, how do you do?”

The Master is about to offer him a hastily made-up name in return when, quite out of nowhere, a very strong wind sweeps in.

The Master squints his eyes shut behind his sunglasses and hunches within his coat. Even through the four layers of clothing he has on (the coat, the dress, and his jacket and shirt beneath those), the wind slices through him like icy needles. He shivers.

When he straightens and opens his eyes again, the Doctor is staring at him with an expression of complete shock and dawning horror. The Master looks at him, alarmed, and wonders what’s wrong.

Then he realizes that his head feels much lighter than it did previously.

 _Oh, no._ There, out in front of his buttoned coat, his scarf is unraveled and fluttering in the wind like a swarm of pink butterflies. His hat has blown away, leaving the Master with his face exposed. He turns pale and stares back at the Doctor, eyes widening with equal horror.

“ _You?!_ ” the Doctor chokes.

The Master panics and does the first thing that comes to mind after having spent hours watching cartoons in which a certain rabbit has faced this exact dilemma. He lunges for the Doctor, grabs the back of his head and the collar of his ridiculous shirt, pulls him down, and kisses him _hard._

The Doctor makes a startled noise in the back of his throat, but is too stunned to try and pull away. And while this would be the _perfect_ time to push the Doctor off and make good his escape, the Master finds himself sinking deeper into the kiss and curling his fingers in the Doctor’s hair. His platform shoes, while awkward to walk in, are now giving him a _delicious_ extra few inches in height that he is finding _extremely_ convenient.

 _Then_ , the Doctor starts kissing him back. The cold, withered clump of misery that had tightened in the Master’s chest earlier now blooms with sudden warmth and unravels in fluttering tendrils throughout his chest. His lips part in a tiny, surprised gasp, which the Doctor takes advantage of by coaxing his mouth open and slipping in his tongue. _Oh…_ The Master is dimly aware that the hand clutching the Doctor’s shirt has tightened into a white-knuckled fist around folds of velvety fabric.

It’s only when the Doctor creeps a hand about the small of his back, trying to pin him close, that the Master realizes his peril. He gathers his wits and surreptitiously slides one foot just behind the Doctor’s. He leans into the other Time Lord and, when he’s positioned just right, gently breaks the kiss.

Then he braces his leg and shoves, toppling the Doctor unceremoniously to the ground. The Master turns and bolts down the street as fast as possible in his ridiculous shoes without waiting to see the Doctor’s reaction.

The Master doesn’t, as it turns out, have to be concerned about pursuit. The Doctor props himself up on his elbows and watches his best enemy, clad in a yellow dress and bright pink scarf, flee ungracefully down the street.

The Doctor’s howling peals of laughter chase the Master the remainder of the way to safety.


End file.
